Bits and pieces

Waiting.

I did bits and pieces

Of Holy Week

This year

Following

Bits and pieces of Lent

Before that.

Now is the time

To sit in silence

While Jesus is off

Emptying Hell

Before he returns

Tomorrow

In splendor.

Bits and pieces were enough

This year.

And now

And now

I wait.

Holy Saturday 2015

So like Him.

On this beautiful blue day

They say

Jesus is down

Evacuating Hell.

What’s the Son of Man to do?

Twiddle his thumbs?

Maybe

Play Gin Rummy,

Or even

Go Fish

With the Heavenly Host?

What’s a guy to do

With this free Saturday

Like no other Saturday

This free blue beautiful day?

So like Him

To throw open

The gates of Hell,

Invite absolutely everyone

To the Resurrection Party

Tomorrow.

The dreams were grateful

Holy Saturday.  One of my favorite days of the year.  Love covers a multitude of sins.  Peter reminds us of this in the liturgy this morning.  Jesus is out emptying hell, even my private hell, even your private hell, breaking open hearts.  Jesus is out covering a multitude of sins.

The dreams were grateful 

I slept in 

This morning.

They supplied interesting things

To keep me in bed,

Add an hour or two

To the usual eight or nine.

The morning is bright

With sun.

Jesus is out

Harrowing Hell

Opening hearts to possibilities

Unknown

Unforeseen

Up until now.

The dreams were grateful

To add more sleep

To the picture.

Now my heart considers

The possibilities

For the rest of the day

And beyond.

On this Holy Saturday

Yep.  We settled it.  Worms burrow.  As sure as Jesus harrows Hell today, He will rise tomorrow.  This has been a Holy Week like no other.

On this

The Holy Saturday

Before Jesus is slated

To rise,

The backyard is filled with animals.

Ducks scout out

Good nest areas.

Robins stake out

Worm possibilities

With their feet.

Breakfast conversation

Considers the proper verb

For earthworm movement.

What is it

Robins cock their heads

To hear

Underground?

We settle on it:

Worms burrow.

On this

The Holy Saturday

Before Jesus is slated

To rise,

He is busy underground,

Busy somewhere,

They say.

He empties Hell,

They say,

Next to burrowing worms.

The robins listen from above.

We watch and listen from afar.

Jesus is slated to rise

Tomorrow.

This is the story we get

There are stories regarding what Jesus must have been doing on this Holy Saturday, while he waited.  I rather like the one about harrowing hell, if only for the wonderful word harrowing.  We like always to imagine Jesus busy about his Father*s work, in this case, emptying hell.  There*s work to be done after all.  There are a couple verses in the Bible which speak to this.  We have the line in the Apostles* Creed (He descended into Hell).  If nothing else, we can keep our imaginations busy while we color Easter eggs and wait.  Wherever Jesus is, we wait in our houses, in our gardens, with the trees, for tonight.  This is the story we get.

Sure Elijah or Moses or even

God could have come

To take Jesus down,

Alive and kicking,

From the cross

Before he died.

God could have even

Sent him Home,

Brought him Home,

By a different way

Like the wise men.

Sure

God could have done it

Differently,

Really all of it,

Differently.

Instead

This is the story we get.

Blood and gore and pain,

Curtain torn,

Ground heaved up to meet

The heavens rent.

Friends to carry the body.

Stones to set in place.

This is the story we get.

We wait in the garden,

The same garden that echoes

The first one,

Even the trees wait there

For his return.

Knowledge and Life wait,

Rooted in holy ground

For his return.

This is the story we get.

It all connects underground,

Above the ground,

Ground heaved up to meet

The heavens rent.

This is the story we get.

Washed in Gold

I always wanted to have a place I could preach Holy Saturday.   

Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins. 

                                                                                         1 Peter 4:8 (NRSV)

The sky slowly lightens again.

All is quiet except for birds singing

In the backyard,

In the garden,

A slight wash of forsythia

Begins the chant of gold

In sprays.

This is the empty time the Church Fathers

Seek to fill,

The time left in between.

After He Rose

They knew Jesus must have done

Something huge,

Fecund even in the tomb.

Not content to rest

He yanks the Gates of Hell

Off their hinges

Hauls up Everyman

Everywoman.

We have ancient church pictures

Of events underground,

They are washed in gold.

In the emptiness

They proclaim

Love covers the multitude

Of sins.

Love wins

Love wins

Love wins.

New light catches the wash of gold.

In the garden the forsythia

Sprays bright gold

In the name of Love.